Pandora's Box
by radcgg
Summary: Both Points of View are posted now!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Alias belongs to J.J. Abrams. Wish that I did own them, but I don't  
  
Author's Note: This story involves Sydney and Sark although it is not a true Sarkney.  
  
Translations  
  
"Aimez-vous quelque chose d'autre" - Would you like something else?  
  
"Non, c'est bon, merci" - No, it's good, thank you.  
  
"Hemos empezado nuestra bajada en Madrid." - We have begun our descent into Madrid.  
  
Constructive Criticism is always welcome (not to mention helpful). You can write me at radcgg@hotmail.com  
  
Prometheus - Forethought  
  
Truth is an abstract noun that any child over the age of five understands. It signifies everything. Yet, it means nothing. It is not tangible like an apple or a toy, but stands for the right. For someone like me truth doesn't really exist. I am a corporeal being. I have a name. Or at least I used to have one. But both the body and the name are simply tools, means to an end. They are useful only up to a point after which then they become a hindrance. I could never understand why people put their bodies under so much strain. I suppose they just don't see things the way I do. Then again, I've always been blessed by my physique. I have nothing to complain about.  
  
"Monsieur, aimez-vous quelque chose d'autre?" The waiter asks me in a polite unobtrusive way.  
  
"Non, c'est bon, merci" I reply. My accent is flawlessly French. I don't even have to think about the language, it just flows freely. I actually can't recall a time when I didn't speak French fluently. I heard somewhere that children at the age of six learn faster than at any other age. Some times I wonder if that's when I learned all of the languages I know. As well as everything else.  
  
It's these times when I'm alone when I allow myself to daydream about my life. What my life could have been like. The parents I had who were so proud of their son, or even the family that I would create with a wife and children of my own. People who love me unconditionally. Then I scold myself for dreaming because it is a complete waste of time and energy wishing for something that will, and can never be.  
  
I cannot allow love to touch me. To love is to be weak, and in my line of work that is completely unacceptable. Weakness is severely frowned upon. I have seen what love can do to a person. I have seen the risks certain people are willing to take all in the name of love, and those risks always end in consequences that the person did not expect to pay. Love is an illusion anyway. It doesn't really exist. It, like truth, is an abstract; it has a different meaning for every person.  
  
Besides, who could love a shadow? I am no one. I have no existence except for life. No past. I have a tabula raza, a blank slate. Every time I take on a new persona I become a little less of what I was once and a little more of something that I will one day become. Whether that is a good thing or not I don't think I will ever know. I may wake up one morning and hate the person who I have become. Or I may not.  
  
I don't know why I like to have my solitary reveries in public. The café is nothing spectacular. I have only been here twice before but the village is small and they get enough tourists for me not to be concerned about being remembered. Perhaps there is some sense of freedom when I am here. That notion is completely ridiculous isn't it? There is no freedom, another abstract concept. Just like loyalty, it doesn't exist except in the mind. I don't believe in loyalty. Perhaps it is my abnormal childhood speaking, but it has been my experience that human beings are utterly incapable of being loyal to each other. Life is really just telling others a string of things that they want to hear. Sometimes those things are factual, but mainly I've found that the lies seem to be more well received.  
  
Looking down, I hadn't even noticed the chill of the night around me. I get up from my table leaving behind enough money to cover my bill. I will not come back to this place.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Pandora enters  
  
I don't feel that leaving my house is a problem. After two years of captivity inside a glass cage I have earned the right to walk around outside. I enjoy the solitude of the walk along the cliffs. They don't belong to me, just like the house doesn't. They don't represent me even though I am their owner. I appreciate them but they do not speak to outsiders of who I really am.  
  
Ownership is entirely a matter of perspective as I have proven on many occasions. Things are just that. Things. The house doesn't mean anything to me. It is a form of comfort and warmth. Beyond that it is just a series of wooden planks arranged into something beautiful and 'safe'.  
  
Of course to stay alive with the job that I have is the fundamental belief that there is no such thing as safety. The only time I have ever craved safety was when I was with Allison. It was a time of weakness and I learned my lesson very well. To care about someone else is the greatest of flaws. I was punished for my insubordination and have changed my ways.  
  
"Just because you're not on American soil doesn't mean I can't kill you." The voice actually startles me. She is not a wholly unexpected visitor but I certainly did not expect her to find me here, on the cliffs. I turn myself around slowly though I am slightly off-kilter I retain the smirk that she is so well acquainted with.  
  
"If you were going to kill me Agent Bristow you would have pulled your gun out and we would not be having this conversation." She looks different to me. Maybe it is because I have discovered that she murdered my father. Maybe it is because I was not completely prepared for her. Whatever the reasoning for my sudden unease, I plaster on the persona of the heartless, soulless assassin that Ms. Bristow knows me as. Self- preservation is a blessing and a curse.  
  
"What do you know about Allison?"  
  
"Ah. Has Ms. Doren been getting herself into a little bit of trouble with the C.I.A.?" I find this line of questioning rather humorous. I feel no impulse to feign that I don't know whom she is referring to by the name 'Allison'. I have found over the years that Ms. Bristow responds best to the direct and honest approach. She hesitates at this. Silly little girl, I have caught her in a moment of weakness.  
  
"Where is she?" She tucks her hair behind her right ear, another one of her classic tells. I want to drag out this moment as long as possible. Though this conversation would appear to an outsider as nothing more than two people talking, Ms. Bristow and I both know that at this moment I have the upper hand. Considering the past two years of my life were wasted because Ms. Bristow and her partner managed to capture me, I feel that this is a great triumph.  
  
"Perhaps you should ask Arvin Sloane that question." Evasiveness will only provoke her. I know this, and yet, I cannot seem to help myself.  
  
"You listen." She raises her voice and pulls out her .9mm aiming it directly at my chest. "I killed your father, I have no problem killing you as well." The darkness in her coffee colored eyes backs up her words. "Where is Allison Doren?"  
  
"I honestly don't know Agent Bristow." She looks at me as if she is weighing the truth of my words. "If there's nothing else." I trail off and turn back to look out at the ocean once more.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Epimetheus - Afterthought  
  
Obviously Ms. Bristow took my words at face value. I'm still alive. I have no doubt that she would not have hesitated to kill me. If truth be told I am rather surprised that she did not take the opportunity and clutch it with both fists.  
  
Curiosity is something that all people feel at one point in time or another. It's something that people in our profession cannot afford to risk. After all curiosity killed the cat did it not?  
  
The plane is crowded. Even in the larger seats of first class I feel constrained. Like my essence is waiting to break through my skin at the first opportune moment. The flight is to be a short one and most of the time has already elapsed. Still I cannot shake the feeling of restlessness that has haunted me since my meeting with Ms. Bristow. I am not used to being surprised.  
  
In my line of work it pays to have all the facts before your opponent. That is how I see Sydney as an opponent. Once I thought that we would be partners but I quickly saw that her moral weaknesses would be counterproductive. Although those same weaknesses could be extremely useful as things stand now.  
  
My brain has been on full alert since her visit. I have been closely monitoring myself, careful not to make any movements that could be held against me. I have been more closely guarded not in the sense of having a detail. I would have no use for a guard detail as I am quite capable of taking care of things myself. It is what I get paid for, and have been paid for many years prior to this.  
  
It's amusing how much faith Sydney puts in truth and honesty. She still has that five-year-old's perspective on things. I'm sure that she believes that there is good in every person, and that even the worst criminal can feel remorse. She is naïve. If experience has taught me one thing it is that. Naivety can get you killed in this business.  
  
"Hemos empezado nuestra bajada en Madrid." The announcement comes from the speakers above my head. The murmur of Spanish is heard throughout the cabin.  
  
I double-check that all of my belongings are in order and that there will be no trace of me once I leave the plane. No remnants of who I am. I leave no truth behind because for someone like me, truth does not exist. 


	2. Sydney

Sydney's Point of View Disclaimer: Again, I don't own "Alias." So please don't sue me!  
  
PART 1  
  
Lies are the opposite of truth. Lies control my life but I suppose that is to be expected in my particular line of work. At the time of my recruitment I had no idea that every day I would be forced to lie to the people I cared about most. No one told me that breaking down and telling the truth could put those same people in danger. So much danger that they could be kidnapped, tortured, and even killed. I feel like I don't really exist anymore. Maybe I never really did. It's like the lies have invaded what was left of the old me and replaced all of the truths I had held on to.  
  
My father has been the one constant over the last two years. Wait. It's been longer than that now. For the last four years then. He has been irreplaceable and even he did some despicable things to me. He programmed me to be a spy when I was six years old. He taught me how to assemble a gun and fire it. He taught me how to speak the languages I speak now. Children at the age of six learn faster than at any other age. I know that's when I learned all I have. That's why the original SD-6 agent training was so simple for me.  
  
All this, done be a man who loved me. I've now come to except that relationships, I mean true relationships where one person would give up anything for the other, are just barely possible when you work for the government. Experience has taught me to be cautious. Danny and Noah were two men I loved who ended up dead because of my job. Vaughn, well there's really no need to go into that again. I was missing and he moved on with his life, that's what it amounts to. And even my father was put in jail. He was imprisoned because of things that I had done and me. I wish that I could change all of this but what's the point of wishing for something that will, and can never be.  
  
Each alias I have, each job that I go on, adds another dimension to me. I find myself incorporating Kate Jones and Beatrice Cuneli into Sydney. I do not see it as losing pieces of myself, I see it as gaining pieces of the puzzle that will one day display the real Agent Bristow for all the world to see. I may wake up one day and hate the person that I have become. Until that day arrives things will continue on as they have and be as normal as they are now.  
  
Sometimes I wish that there were someone to listen to me when I get this deep into my thoughts. Being solitary does not normally bother me. It does give you a sense of safety to be alone but at the same time when you are alone you are at your most exposed. What is safety anyway? It's simply a feeling. Something to be created at will. It doesn't really exist; I've seen many proofs of that.  
  
The lies control my life. For a long time I was not allowed to be seen with a man that I cared for very deeply all because of lies and deceit. Even today Julia Thorne keeps me in a web of lies and corruption. She is my only ally and my only nemesis. She is me and I am her, yet we are not one. The clearer things get for me, the more deception I see around me. Sometimes I tell myself that my life is a hallucination, that absolutely none of it is real. Sometimes I really want to believe that. Today is one of those days.  
  
PART 2  
  
I don't know what gave me the idea that he would be in Ireland but somehow I just knew. I had someone find out, through back channels of course, where his residence was. The desire to know what he knows was overwhelming me. He's just a man. Sometimes people forget that. Aside from being an enemy of the United States he killed Francie. He is a major part of the deceit that plagues my life. I feel the need to purge myself of all of it. And so I need to know.  
  
I don't remember stopping the car or getting out of it. All I know is that if he is here like I know he is and then maybe I'll find some peace. Maybe, just maybe, he'll have an answer for me. I know exactly where I'm going, I don't even have to think about what I'm doing as I walk over purposefully to the cliff. This place calls to my blood for some strange reason. I can feel the air singing through my body. Maybe this is what I needed. Maybe this is what I have been waiting for since I returned.  
  
I see him. He's standing by himself completely engulfed in a world of his own imagining and for just a second I wonder what he is thinking about. This man that no one know, that no one seems to understand, and I wonder what is going through his mind. I'm almost sad to interrupt his thoughts. Almost.  
  
"Just because you're not on American soil doesn't mean I can't kill you." The words are through my lips before I can even think about them. My own eyes widen in shock as I realize the ramifications of what I have just said. He turns around slowly. I don't think that he was expecting me to find him here. Damn him and those blue eyes.  
  
"If you were going to kill me Agent Bristow you would have pulled your gun out and we would not be having this conversation." And the smirk. I hate that smirk. He has a point. Still I have the upper hand. I still have him surprised. I take this opportunity to look him over carefully. His skin is not as pasty as it was in Mexico. I don't know why but I'm glad for that. Other then the drastic change in hair length he looks the same as he did two years ago. Maybe there are a few lines here and there, but I think that those are many from lack of sleep. I almost sympathize with that. It's hard to sleep when you know that people are always watching you.  
  
"What do you know about Allison?" I know that he knows something. He must know something. If I find Allison maybe I can find the people who took those two years from me. Maybe I can get back everything that was brutally stolen from me. I could lead a normal life again. A life without the C.I.A. or the N.S.C. looking over my shoulder just waiting for the next assassination.  
  
"Ah. Has Ms. Doren been getting herself into a little bit of trouble with the C.I.A.?" He looks amused that I would bring her up. Honestly, I didn't expect him to be honest. I expected him to deny any knowledge of anyone named Allison Doren. I think I may have underestimated my opponent. I hesitate. I know that he sees this as the smirk becomes and even larger malicious grin.  
  
"Where is she?" Before I even realize I'm doing it, I tuck my hair behind my ear. Now he knows that I need information from him he has the upper hand.  
  
"Perhaps you should ask Arvin Sloane that question." Damn it. He's being evasive. I hate that. What could Arvin Sloane possibly have to tell me that I would want to hear.  
  
"You listen" you son of a bitch. My voice raises and I pull out my gun knowing there is already a bullet in the chamber just waiting for me to pull the trigger. "I killed your father, I have no problem killing you as well." While I know that this is not entirely true, there is enough fact in it that he should believe it. Besides my gun is pointed at his chest and I seriously doubt that he has a Kevlar vest on underneath his clothes this time. "Where is Allison Doren?"  
  
"I honestly don't know Agent Bristow." I don't know if I should believe him or not. For some reason his nonchalance leads me to put enough truth in what he's told me. "If there's nothing else," he says. Oh, now that's just arrogant. I have received the royal dismissal, and I'm the one with the gun. How does that work?  
  
PART 3  
  
Hours later and I still don't understand why I let him go. He killed my best friend; tortured another one, and I still let him walk out with his life. What's wrong with me? I should have just pulled the trigger. All it would have been was a reflexive action. A clench of some muscles and a known terrorist would have been off the C.I.A.'s most wanted list forever.  
  
Who am I kidding? I'm not that person. I am not a cold-blooded killer or an assassin who takes some kind of perverse pleasure in what I do. Julia might have been, but I don't know anything about Julia. Come to think of it Julia Thorne and Mr. Sark would have made a good team at least according to what limited knowledge I have of her. Both of them had a distinct disregard for any kind of emotion. Julia was able to stand in front of a man that she was acquainted with and calmly slit his throat. No feeling involve what so ever. In fact it was a scene very similar to one that I'd seen earlier in my life, where a certain man walked right out of "Tyno Chem Engineering" and mercilessly shot a man.  
  
For some reason I thought that if Sark could tell me where Allison was I could find out what happened to me. I figured that maybe one of them would have some idea of what I'd done. Now I'm back to where I started from - nowhere.  
  
I figured maybe if I saw him I'd be able to bring out his good side. Maybe I did. Maybe what I saw today was all the good that was left in Sark. He was incarcerated for two years, which can do a lot of strange things to a person.  
  
This is all assuming that he was telling me the truth earlier. I'm not naïve enough to believe that every person feels remorse for the things that they have done but I believe that most people do. Everyone has feelings. Some people may be able to turn them on and off at will but I am not one of those lucky few. I can't help it if seeing someone die tears me up inside. It would be the same for any balanced person. I'm sure that even when Sark is alone he feels something for the people he's killed or the families they've left behind them.  
  
I wonder if he realized that I was serious about killing him. I wonder if he knew that I was tempted to become him, the assassin. I wonder if he would have acted differently if he had believed me. Maybe, maybe not. I guess now I'll never know. Maybe if he believed my threat he would have given me the information that I needed.  
  
Just gives me something to think about for the next time we meet. And I remain confident that we will meet again. I found him once; I know that I can do it again. I'm not as innocent and ignorant as I seem. I know how to improvise, and that will be how I reacquire the element of surprise. Next time I will win. 


	3. Sark

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. Enough said.  
  
Thanks: To Lauren. And Kelsey!  
  
Perhaps the house on the cliff meant more than I original assumed. Ireland was the one place that I had for myself, now it's been tainted by my occupation. I never wished for that to happen but now that it has there's no escape.  
  
One must cut one's losses though and the place will be on the market tomorrow morning. In my work, you have to be able to make split second decisions with conviction or you end up dead. A depressing thought to say the least, one which I have absolutely no intention of ever becoming a reality. When I do die, as all people eventually do, it will be on my own terms not someone else's. Only the facts matter in this instance. My home has been compromised and like a disease, the only response is quarantine and eventual containment. I will never return to that house, those cliffs, or even to that county. It has been damaged by Ms. Bristow's visit, and now has none of the purity which I admired about it.  
  
Besides, things are just things. They bear little consequence. Everything in that house is completely replaceable. There were chairs, a table, a bed, some pillows, nothing that would say anything about the kind of man I am, or the kind of man I'm not. When you live like I do, you can't afford to take risks like owning things that distinguish your personality from others. It's not worth risking yourself for a bunch of material possessions that could ultimately be replaced at any time.  
  
Every risk I've ever taken, including the purchase of the house, has been a calculated one. Carefully weighed odds and loyalties are considered. I'll admit, some decisions, most notably the one to precede the meet in Stockholm knowing that Irina was aware of my whereabouts and entering the final phases of her plan, were not as meticulous as I would have liked, or believed them to be. But I will not seek retribution.  
  
The quest for revenge has never led anyone away from the path of grief. Truly, has it ever forwarded someone's cause to punish those responsible for his condition? The only thing that revenge does well is distract. Passion of any sort only impedes the expected result. I have never sought revenge for anything that was done to me, nor will I. Not because I am above it, I'm not naïve enough to believe that to be the case, but because it is not useful. Revenge serves no purpose but to fuel the fire of passion and engulfed in those flames mistakes are inevitable.  
  
There is no room for mistakes. They are a direct result of the carelessness that comes with feeling. That's why emotion is so frown upon whether that weakness is anger, hatred, desire, love or some other indistinguishable feeling. These things are completely unnecessary. Contrary to popular belief, a fulfilling life can be lived without love and long stretches of sorrow. Why severe bouts of depression appeal to people has always eluded me. Why would people want to bring that upon themselves willingly? The stupidity of the human race never ceases to astound me.  
  
The solitude of the rental car was a perfect choice after spending so many hours in crowds the loneliness was welcome. Even trapped in rush hour traffic, blending into the masses, the serenity overwhelmed me. The calm that I felt signified the calm before the storm, to borrow the cliché. I couldn't even tell you what the band on the radio sang about, it was a blur of drums, bass and guitar. The strong melody was suppressed to background noise as my concentration switched to the job at hand, though I would not arrive at my destination for hours yet. Preparations had already begun.  
  
**********************  
  
I sat and waited, my arrival being earlier than anticipated, my target was not expected for another hour. Patience held great value in the business of trade. Trade of physical matter, trade of information, trade of lives, it didn't matter what the target may have been it's always the same. That makes life sound trivial, and maybe it is.  
  
Cynicism and pessimism often seem interchangeable in my case. I don't see myself as cynical or pessimistic, but realistic and practical. We all die one day, people should just learn to accept that fact. The inevitability of death doesn't bother me as it does most, maybe that's why I'm able to sleep perfectly well at night. I chose to play the role that suited me perfectly. My job is portrayed differently in Hollywood movies, nights full of nightmares after which I'd wake up in the morning screaming at the horror of my actions. But that's just something that writers and directors created to ease the minds of the masses. Most people like me, competently trained assassins, are cold, emotionless, practical people who are few and far between those of us who label ourselves assassins. Because we are detached we don't require anti-depressants or nerve suppressors, or trips to the psychiatrist, though I have been a psychoanalytical patient once as part of an assignment. We are completely self-sufficient. We don't need anyone to clean up our messes, that's where the competency comes into play.  
  
I hear her car pull up just minutes before she opens the door. I know that she'll be totally alone, tomorrow is her day off and she likes to spend it away from people, much like myself. I pull out my .9mm which already has a bullet waiting in the chamber for her should she decide to do something heroically foolish as she has done so many times in the past.  
  
"Just because you're on American soil now, doesn't mean that I can't kill you." The sense of irony does not escape my notice as she is quite as shocked as I was when she made her unexpected appearance. After a lengthy pause I began again, "I see you weren't expecting me." No, she hadn't been expecting me, she still had her keys frozen in her hand and a shocked expression on her face. She also had yet to close the door which was a danger to us both. "Perhaps you should come in and close the door behind you," I suggested to her gently. This was supposed to be a spy, one of the best in the business and right now she seemed like a doe caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Then just as quickly as she'd slipped into the trance, she snapped out of it.  
  
I blinked and her gun was pointed at me and the door was closed behind her. Where the keys had disappeared to, I didn't stop to wonder. "Well it seems we are once again at an impasse." She had yet to speak. I couldn't wait to hear the first sarcastic phrase pass through those sharply witty lips.  
  
"Perhaps an impasse, but if you were going to kill me you would have done it already and we would not be having this conversation." Who had the upper hand at this moment, I don't think either one of us knew. The only thing that mattered was the fact that my actions had a purpose and she was about to find out what that purpose was.  
  
"Touché, Ms. Bristow." And once again she had managed to surprise me. Sydney Bristow seemed to be a constant source of amazement. She could go from clingy and whiny to strong and witty within the span of a few moments. "I've come to make a deal with you."  
  
"Have you really," she moved gracefully towards the living room. "Well, if we're going to discuss business I suppose I should ask you to sit down." She motioned with her hand to the couch a few meters away from where he stood.  
  
"I prefer to stand actually, but by all means." She sat down on the couch but kept her weapon in her hand, though she placed it in her lap. "I propose a trade."  
  
"What kind of trade," she asked calmly, almost too calmly, like she knew what I was going to say before I'd even entered the room.  
  
"I can deliver Allison Doren to you." I chose my words carefully as I knew that she would inevitably be able to read between the lines easily.  
  
"Why would you want to do that? Allison is your partner isn't she?" The connotation was obvious, she knew about our former relationship.  
  
"She is no longer of value to me, which is not to say that she's not important to the Covenant."  
  
She seemed to ponder this point for a few moments before asking the question that she had been postponing until the last possible moment. "And what would you be asking for in return?"  
  
The two words I give her, shock her again.  
  
"Lauren Reed." With that I walked towards her along the back of the couch and pressed myself up against her ear. "I'll contact you in a couple of days for your answer." I turned around and walked out of the house leaving no trace of myself except for the vivid memory I'm sure Sydney had of my visit.  
  
************  
  
If one were to look for honesty in the world that I live in, they would be hard pressed to find it. I don't think I've ever met someone who didn't have an angle working for them at the time. Everyone always has ulterior motivations, no one does anything without having more than one purpose. Normally the main reason is the hidden one and then the obvious reason is thought up after the fact to cover the honest motivation. It's sad to think that you never fully know what someone wants from you. Every conversation, every deal, every death has more than one purpose.  
  
The same could be said for me, as I am no exception to the rule.  
  
I suppose that having no real identity would make me a part of a whole. I would be consider one within the ranks of assassins, instead of Sark. It's funny how I think of myself as separate from them though. The title does not define who I am and yet at the same time, I am no one. It is possible to be a paradox in yourself. I am everyone and I am no one. How could I ever explain that feeling to someone else?  
  
The sky above the park bench is gray for the first time since I arrived in L.A. three days ago. The clouds seem to be waiting for me with their threatening appearance. They will open up and pour down before the day is over. That doesn't really concern me, what does concern me is the fact that my contact is late again. He doesn't seem to consider that I have other things that I have to do today, this is not my only appointment. Also, he's taking a great risk meeting me out here. It's a necessary risk, one that he had to take in order to maintain his tenuous relationship with my employer and his current place of employment.  
  
He sat down beside me, most dangerously, holding a newspaper to try and conceal the fact that we were talking. "Warehouse 28, 8pm," he said to me as surreptitiously as he could. I nodded slightly in agreement as he picked himself up and walked on leaving the paper behind him.  
  
I walked calmly away and mused at how amazingly easy it was to infiltrate the CIA. All you needed to know was the right button to push in order to get the desired result. I knew the right button on Michael Vaughn, and he will bring the downfall of my enemies. 


End file.
